


I Go Hard, I Go Home

by withthepilot



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Arguing, Awkward Sexual Situations, Car Sex, Community: trope_bingo, Diners, M/M, Reunions, Road Trips, Snark, Trope Bingo Round 3, Vehicular Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 05:07:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1497751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Derek lays eyes on Jackson again, it’s at a gas station, of all places. Jackson is standing alone, his hip cocked like the world owes him something. He’s got one hand on a gas pump; the other clutches a bag of Fritos. As Derek stares, Jackson dumps the remaining contents of the bag into his open mouth. </p>
<p>Derek is fresh back from South America and he needs a ride. It must be his lucky day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Go Hard, I Go Home

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [sinsense](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sinsense/) for her fantastic beta services and for whipping baby's first _Teen Wolf_ fic into shape. VISION QUEST 4EVA. Takes place after the events of 3A.
> 
> Story fills the "road trip" square on my Trope Bingo round 3 card. Title comes from a song by The Presets.

The first time Derek lays eyes on Jackson again, it’s at a gas station, of all places. Derek finds he isn’t too surprised to see him. Jackson had never seemed happy about being shipped overseas. They did a fair amount of training prior to Jackson’s move, but Derek knows there’s no substitute for feeling at home in a real pack.

Jackson is standing alone, his hip cocked like the world owes him something. He’s got one hand on a gas pump; the other clutches a bag of Fritos. As Derek stares, Jackson dumps the remaining contents of the bag into his open mouth. 

Derek is fresh back from South America and he needs a ride. It must be his lucky day.

He doesn’t have to see Jackson’s eyes behind his aviators to know that they’re blue and bored—that is, until Jackson smells Derek approaching. He tenses visibly, balls up the empty Fritos bag, and tosses it into the nearby trashcan.

“Fucking hell,” he says. Derek knows that’s the best he’ll get, in terms of a greeting. He nods toward Jackson’s car.

“What happened to London?”

“It was boring, so I bailed,” Jackson says. He stops the pump once the meter hits thirty dollars and stows it away. “And/or my visa expired. Take your pick.” 

Derek nods, squinting in the sun. “And you just thought you’d take a tour of the American Southwest.”

“Seemed like the thing to do. The whole ‘American werewolf in London’ thing is old hat.” Jackson smiles. It looks like a grimace. “What the hell are you doing down here? Wait, let me guess: You got lost sniffing after a tasty-looking squirrel and you need a ride somewhere.”

“I’ve been traveling,” Derek says, trying not to scowl. “But yes, I do need a ride. Back to Beacon Hills.”

“I’m shocked you left. That town is such a paradise on Earth.”

“Needed a change of scenery. So, what’ll it be? Yes or no on the ride?”

“Hmm.” Jackson licks the corner of his mouth and walks to the driver’s side of the car. “I can take you part of the way. It’s not really where I was heading.”

It’s as good an invitation as any, so Derek nods and rounds the back of the car, opening the passenger-side door. “Where were you heading?”

Jackson smirks. “Anywhere but Beacon Hills.”

*

Jackson is a shitty driver. He speeds too much, and he’s always fiddling with his phone, changing the music when he tires of a song after two minutes.

“Keep your eyes on the road,” Derek hisses.

“You’re not the boss of me, you beta bitch.” 

Of course he can sense that Derek isn’t an alpha anymore. And it’s just like Jackson to bring it up in such a tasteless way. He’s not looking forward to the conversation where Jackson asks him what happened. Though Jackson is so self-absorbed, he probably won’t even bring it up.

“But fine,” Jackson says, interrupting Derek’s train of thought. He tosses his phone into Derek’s lap. “You pick something. Fair warning: I don’t have any doo-wop or marching band music, or whatever it is geezers like you are into.”

Derek presses the stop button and then puts the phone aside, out of Jackson’s immediate reach. 

“I like silence,” he says.

Jackson’s lip curls. “God, I’d forgotten what a killjoy you are. You really wanna drive all the way back to California without anything playing in the background?”

“I’d say we could talk,” Derek says, shutting his eyes, “but I’d still prefer silence.”

“You forget that I’m the one doing you the favor, here.”

“I’ve done you a lot of favors myself.”

“Oh, right. Sure you have.” Jackson’s voice drips sarcasm.

“You regret it, then? Asking for the bite?”

“I never have regrets,” Jackson says coldly, staring out at the road ahead. “Aside from giving you my phone.”

“You can have it back; just stop dicking around with it every five seconds.”

“No, you’re right. The silence is better.”

It’s the last sentence uttered between them for the next four hours.

*

Jackson turns his nose up at the roadside diner, but he demolishes the cheeseburger and onion rings the waitress places before him. Derek orders the same thing, except with fries instead of onion rings. If he has to put up with Jackson for another few days, he figures he ought to treat himself.

“So,” Jackson says, halfway through his burger. “You gonna tell me what happened?”

So he did bring it up. Derek sips his Coke. “No.”

“Okay, fine. But if you’re a beta, that means you’re in a pack. So who’s your alpha?”

“Scott.”

“Scott _McCall_?” Jackson starts laughing, hyena-like, and it only intensifies when Derek frowns around his straw. “That’s great. So, what, it’s Scott and his merry gang of misfits? You, Erica, Boyd—”

“They’re dead,” Derek says dully, through a mouthful of fried potato.

“Oh.” Jackson pauses, his eyebrows furrowed. Derek thinks he might be trying to muster an emotion. Whatever is happening in his head, it’s short-lived. “Well. Sorry to hear that. I liked Erica. She was hot.”

Derek doesn’t know how to answer that. He doubts it’s worth trying, so he doesn’t. He wipes his mouth with his napkin instead. They eat in silence for another few minutes before Jackson clears his throat.

“How’s, um. How’s Lydia?” he asks.

“Fine,” Derek says. It’s not worth recounting all the shit that went down with Jennifer, especially now that it’s over. He shrugs instead and says, “She’s fucking some guy who looks like a foot.”

He knows it was the right thing to say when Jackson’s gaze darkens.

“You boys want anything else?” The waitress says, shuffling over to their table. “Some pie or ice cream?”

Jackson pushes his plate aside, getting up from the table. “No, I’m done. And he’s paying. I’ll be in the car.” He leaves in a huff and the waitress looks after him, popping her gum.

“Better go make up with your boyfriend,” she says, handing Derek the check.

He almost stiffs her on the tip, but he knows he would feel guilty.

Jackson is still in the car when he gets outside, which is a relief—Derek half-expected him to drive off and abandon him—and he’s sitting in the front passenger seat, looking sulky. He glares at Derek out the window before unlocking the doors.

“Look, Jackson, I didn’t—”

“Whatever. It’s fine. You drive; I’m taking a nap.”

Derek knows better than to argue. He gets in the car and gets them moving. Once they’re back on the road, he looks over at Jackson, who’s turned away from him. He can see through the side mirror that Jackson’s eyes are shut but Derek knows he’s still awake.

“She misses you,” he says. “If you really want to know.”

It’s a small reaction. Anyone else might miss it, but not Derek. Jackson flinches.

*

Derek drives until five in the morning, until they’re just out of Arizona. His eyelids start to droop, so he veers off the highway to hit the first rest area he spies. He parks, checks their immediate surroundings for any signs of danger, and then closes his eyes.

When he wakes up again, it’s after ten, and Jackson’s head is propped against his shoulder. Derek finds himself with a face full of Jackson’s hair, which reeks of sweet-smelling shampoo. He shivers with sudden memories of pushing Jackson against the lockers at his school, getting so close he could smell his fear. Now there’s no fear, just the scents of Jackson’s shampoo, his leather jacket, and his sleepy warmth. 

Jackson murmurs, then startles awake when he realizes he’s leaning against Derek.

“What the fuck,” he whispers hoarsely.

Derek yawns and starts up the engine. “I’m thinking breakfast.”

“Yeah,” Jackson says, rubbing his eyes.

Once again, Jackson eats as if he hasn’t seen food in a lifetime, inhaling a huge stack of pancakes like it’s made of air. Derek sticks with scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and black coffee—a lot of black coffee. He offers Jackson his leftovers, just nudging the plate across the table rather than asking outright. Jackson blushes a very faint pink as he picks up a piece of bacon, which Derek finds fascinating. He only realizes after the fact that it was a very alpha move on his part, to offer Jackson his food. Maybe the instinct never quite disappears.

“If we drove all the way, we’d get there by the end of the night,” Derek says. “Where were you thinking of dropping me off? L.A.?”

“Wherever. We’ll play it by ear.”

Derek’s eyebrows shoot up. “Well, I mean, if you have somewhere specific in mind you want to go…”

“I told you, I don’t.” Jackson shrugs and sips his coffee, tan with tons of skim milk and sugar substitute. “I might as well take you all the way, at this rate. If we’re gonna get there by the end of the day.”

“If you’re sure.”

Jackson shrugs again and fiddles with a mini-cup of half and half. Derek takes a closer look at him, thrown off by the uncharacteristic show of generosity. Jackson looks stronger and bigger than Derek remembers him, though still hopelessly young. The sunshine peeking between the window blinds highlights the freckles on the tops of Jackson’s cheeks and the bridge of his nose. His jaw twitches as he grinds his teeth. Derek wishes suddenly that Jackson would tell him what happened in London. He has a strong suspicion that _something_ went down and it wasn’t good.

Then again, it might be the close proximity to Beacon Hills that’s making Jackson nervous. He did murder a fair amount of people there—not that Derek can throw stones in that particular glass house.

“I hate to mention it,” Jackson says, “but since there’s no one else to ask…how’s Danny?”

“Danny?” Oh, right, that kid who looks like he should be in the Marine Corps. Jackson’s best friend. “He doesn’t keep in touch with you?”

“He did at first. Now…not so much.”

Derek purses his lips. He’s pretty sure Danny is dating the other talking foot, but that wouldn’t be the best information to share with Jackson right now.

“I dunno. I think he’s fine. Still looks too old to be in high school.”

Jackson’s mouth curves into a half-smile. He lifts his coffee mug to his lips with both hands. “He always did. He’s a freak.”

“We’re two werewolves who can’t stand each other, eating breakfast in the middle of nowhere, and _Danny’s_ the freak.”

“You can’t stand me? Good to know.”

“Well, I got used to you when I was training you. It’s you who can’t stand me.”

“Can you blame me?” Jackson asks, smiling sweetly. Derek smirks and looks down, unable to deal with that expression on Jackson’s face.

“Gotta pee,” he says, and gets up quickly. 

When he comes back, he finds Jackson standing by the exit with his sunglasses and jacket on, ready to go.

“I settled up,” he says. “C’mon, old man.”

He lays a hand on Derek’s shoulder and gives him a quick squeeze. Derek knows Jackson well enough to know that the touch is a kind of apology. He’s not exactly sure when he started to know Jackson that well, but it is what it is. He knows him. They know each other. 

They head back to the car.

*

It’s around one when Derek wakes from a doze, after he feels the car swerve wildly on the road. His hackles raise and his fangs emerge automatically.

“What the fuck was that?” he snarls. But then his fangs retract when he gets a load of Jackson, pale and sweating, his hands trembling and knuckles white around the steering wheel. He sniffs the air and smells Jackson’s fear, pungent and searing. It doesn’t please him the way it once did. “What’s wrong?”

“I just—I didn’t see a car coming into our lane, that’s all.”

“You’re sweating. Pull over.”

“It’s not—”

“Pull over the fucking car, Jackson. _Now_.”

Once the car comes to a stop, Jackson unbuckles and throws his door open, running outside and kicking up dirt. He bends forward and clutches his thighs with both hands, inhaling deep gulps of air as Derek watches from the car. Derek doesn’t know whether he’s supposed to leave him alone or not, but his instincts tell him to get out of the car. He walks up behind Jackson and puts his hand on Jackson’s back, close to his nape. Jackson growls in response. His wolf emerges as he turns to face Derek, his eyes glowing blue, no longer bored. Derek takes a step back and raises his hands.

“I’m on your side, Jackson,” he says, as calmly as he can. Jackson’s face shifts back to normal, but his eyes are glassy. Derek frowns. “Still dramatic, I see.”

“Still a complete asshole, I see.”

“I’m the asshole? You almost got us killed!”

“Fuck you, you’re making me go back there,” Jackson says, his voice cracking.

“I’m not making you do anything!”

“No one there wants me around! Not after what I did. Not Lydia, not Danny, not even my parents. They shipped me away for a reason, you know.” 

Derek swallows. “You offered the ride. We can part ways right now, if you want.”

“Good fucking idea.” Jackson marches past Derek, their arms grazing, and stomps back to the car. “When you get back to that hellhole, tell everyone that Jackson said to go fuck themselves and eat a thousand dicks.” 

He slams the car door shut and starts blasting music, as loud as it’ll go. Then he muscles his way back into highway traffic, leaving a thick cloud of dust in his wake. The shrill horns of other cars ring in Derek’s ears. 

Derek shields his eyes and looks up at the midday sun with a sigh. He can still make it to Beacon Hills by the end of the day if he gets another ride right away. He considers hitchhiking, but he doesn’t know what the hunter situation is like in Southern California. With his luck, he’d end up getting a ride from Chris Argent’s second cousin. 

He thinks about it for a little while longer. Then he crouches down and takes a seat on the ground. And he waits.

About fifteen minutes later, Jackson pulls up to the shoulder. He rolls down the window and gapes as Derek stands and brushes the dirt off his ass.

“You fucker. How did you know I’d come back?”

Derek smirks as he gets back into the car and buckles up. “We geezers can be very wise.”

Jackson exhales and squints out the windshield. “I’m kind of an asshole. That much hasn’t changed.” He turns and peers at Derek over his sunglasses. “Town border. But not one inch beyond that.”

“That’s more than fine. And I told you already: I’m used to you.”

“You’re gross,” Jackson says, pulling into traffic.

Derek doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but it’s funny, so he grins.

*

Another town, another gas station. When Derek returns from the stop-and-go convenience mart, he has to tap on the glass to get Jackson’s attention, so he can unlock the door. Derek gets back in the car and hands one of his purchases to Jackson.

“Ring Dings?” Jackson asks, blinking.

“You said you were in the mood for something sweet. And I know you like junk food.”

“I haven’t had these in years.” Jackson tears open the packaging and sniffs the contents. “Shit. They smell amazing.”

Derek starts up the engine and smirks at him as he pulls out, heading back to the highway. “You’re weird,” he says.

Jackson breaks one Ring Ding in half and eats it delicately. “Oh, my god,” he mutters, his voice muffled by cake. “How much was it?” He licks the excess cream filling from his fingertips and Derek glances at him, distracted by the sight. Just for a moment.

“Whatever,” he says. “Forget about it. It was cheap.”

Jackson peers at him through narrowed eyes. “Why do you keep giving me food?”

“You’re, what, fourteen? You need to eat.”

“Do I look fucking fourteen to you?” Jackson licks a chocolate smudge from his lips slowly, deliberately. “Did you forget you’re not an alpha anymore?”

Derek bristles. “How would I forget that?”

“I dunno, but you keep treating me like I’m your bitch.”

“Jesus Christ. I forgot what a mouthy little piece of—”

A semi-trailer barrels past them on the driver’s side, honking its horn loudly. Derek scrabbles to veer out of the way and nearly collides with another car. Jackson grabs the steering wheel and helps to steady the car. Derek heart is pounding, and his claws have come out.

“Next exit’s coming up,” Jackson says. He sounds far away to Derek’s ears. “Take it.”

By the time they get off the highway, Derek’s claws have retracted and he’s able to breathe again. He drives until he spots an abandoned chain restaurant and swerves into the surrounding empty lot, parking the car behind the building. He has a distinct feeling of déjà vu and he flushes with embarrassment. He doesn’t have anything to panic about, does he?

“Well, that was fun,” Jackson drawls beside him. “Guess you paid me back for earlier.”

Derek shuts his eyes and prepares to give Jackson the filthiest glare he can muster. He doesn’t get the chance before Jackson insinuates his hand between Derek’s thighs and cups his groin. “ _Jackson_ ,” Derek snarls. His hips jerk up, automatically, and Jackson smiles. “What—”

“You’re on edge. You don’t wanna go back either.”

“Yeah, but I have to.”

“Cut the shit, Hale.” Jackson tightens his grip and Derek grunts, gripping the underside of the steering wheel. “This is me you’re talking to. You don’t have to do any of the stupid things you decide to do and we both know it. But since you insist on being an idiot, I’m pretty sure you need this.” Jackson swallows, the corded muscles in his neck moving. How many times has Derek fantasized about ripping his stupid, chatty throat out, anyway? His decision is made before he can even give it much thought.

“Get in the back,” Derek says on a growl. Then he hauls Jackson into the backseat before he can make a move.

*

Minutes later, Derek has his tongue shoved as far up Jackson’s asshole as he can possibly manage. Jackson is naked and mewling beneath him, scrabbling at the car window, and though he may not look fourteen, he tastes young. 

“You—you’re giving me beard burn on my _asshole_ , asshole,” Jackson hisses. Derek flicks his tongue teasingly against Jackson’s reddened hole in response. When Jackson reaches down for his dick, Derek lets his claws emerge. He digs them into Jackson’s ass cheeks, making him yowl. “You fucking sadist, Jesus!”

“Don’t come,” Derek says. “And don’t touch yourself.” He licks a stripe down Jackson’s perineum and shudders at Jackson’s answering moan. “How do you want to be fucked?”

“You want me to think after that?” Jackson gripes, but he pushes his jeans away and turns, crawling toward Derek. He looks hungry, desperate. If Derek weren’t already rock hard, that sight alone would be enough to get him there. “Like this,” Jackson says. He straddles Derek’s lap and pushes down Derek’s jeans.

Derek looks between Jackson’s hands and his face. “Really.”

“What’s it to you?” Jackson asks, looking more like his petulant self. He nips Derek’s bottom lip and it stings. 

“Nothing.” Derek kisses him quickly and reaches down blindly for his wallet, stuffed somewhere in his jeans. He’s pretty sure he’s got a condom stashed in there, replaced after the last time he used one—a thought he pushes quickly out of his mind. Jackson whines and pushes his face against the crook of Derek’s neck, smacking his forearm. “What?” Derek asks.

“Don’t need it.”

“Yes, we do.” Derek fetches the condom and rips it open, then holds Jackson by the scruff of his neck. “Now put it on me.” Jackson grunts, but he does it. Derek skates his knuckles gently up and down Jackson’s spine and laughs when Jackson huffs and arches it into it at the same time. 

“Can I fuck you now or what?” Jackson says.

“I dunno, can you?” Derek asks. He pulls Jackson into position and holds him still, thrusting up at the same time. He gets halfway on the first thrust—Jackson is still fairly tight despite the rimjob, and there’s only a thin coating of lube on the condom—but Jackson grips Derek’s shoulders, pushing down the rest of the way. Derek tries not to look as though the air has been punched out of him. “Fuck, Jackson,” he says, between gritted teeth.

“Maybe if we—ahh—had done this before, I wouldn’t have left.”

“Yeah, right,” Derek says, though anything is possible. He sweeps his hands over Jackson’s sides and Jackson presses close, wrapping his arms around Derek’s shoulders.

Jackson’s kiss is more surprising than the first roll of his hips.

“This means nothing, got it?” he murmurs against Derek’s lips. Then he rubs his cheeks all over Derek’s beard and groans. 

“Thought you didn’t want beard burn,” Derek says. He slides his fingers down Jackson’s crack, slick with his sweat, and Jackson keens.

“We heal fast, dumbass. Or don’t you remember?”

“I remember,” Derek says. He leans in and bites Jackson’s clavicle.

They shut up after that, writhing together on the leather seat, Jackson’s cock dripping all over Derek’s stomach. Jackson slips on the seat a couple of times, trying to get a grip on the smooth black leather and also move closer to Derek. He puts one hand flat on the roof of the car and Derek can’t help himself—he bites the thin flesh of Jackson’s underarm, making him gasp. Jackson buries his fingers in Derek’s hair and kisses along his jaw in response, nuzzling every inch of skin he can find, seemingly starved for contact. When Derek finally takes hold of Jackson’s cock, Jackson growls, as if he doesn’t want it to end. But soon he’s bucking into Derek’s grip, whining for more, punching the back of the seat. When he cranes his neck, baring it to the warm air of the car, Derek takes the delicate skin there between his teeth. He thrusts one more time and Jackson comes with a reedy gasp.

Derek needs more. He holds onto Jackson tight and pushes him down onto his back. Jackson’s elbow hits the car door with a bang and he ends up twisted on the seat at an awkward angle, but he doesn’t say a word; he just pants and moans with his head thrown back, his cheeks pink and his eyes wide, glowing blue. Derek comes hard with Jackson’s name on his lips, leaving jagged scratches across Jackson’s hipbones. 

When Derek opens his eyes again, the beard burn on Jackson’s face is already gone—the scratches on his hips, too. 

“Well, that was fun,” Derek says.

Jackson laughs loudly. It’s startling.

*

The sky is an inky, midnight blue by the time they near their destination, only a little off schedule. When Derek spies the familiar sign that reads “Welcome to Beacon Hills,” he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

The car jerks to a halt. Derek braces himself against the dashboard even though he’s wearing a seatbelt. Beside him, in the driver’s seat, Jackson shrugs.

“I meant what I said. This is as far as I go.”

“He’d let you in, you know,” Derek says. “Scott would.” Jackson gives him a look that could level a six-story building. “Fine. Never mind.”

After he gets out of the car, Jackson rolls down the window and looks at him, not saying anything. 

“Should I still give everyone that message?” Derek asks. “About eating all the dicks?”

Jackson smirks. “You never saw me,” he says. Then he drives away, leaving Derek to stare at his disappearing taillights.

Like most of the things Jackson says, it isn’t true.


End file.
